Page 17 of Her Boss

“Begin? I… don’t understand.”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll close the front door. Nobody will see anything.”

“Everything?”

The woman tapped her lower lip with a long, slim finger, the nail painted a deep crimson. “I suppose panties and a bra will do then—but those will have to come off too when we try on the lingerie.”

“Lingerie?” I held up my hands. “I… I’m working in an office though. I don’t think lingerie… is really appropriate.”

“In his office it is.”

Oh, shit.

Brooke tipped her head toward the back. “I don’t have all day.”

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” I had to clear my throat, my mouth was so dry. “What exactly did he tell you he wanted?”

Brooke’s arms crossed, her patience clearly beginning to wane. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing unusual. Tight and form-fitting. Show off your figure, but keep it within bounds. That kind of thing. I’m quite good at finding what appeals to his… tastes.”

“Whoa…”

“Will there be a problem—again—Ms. Nantes?”

“Look, I’ll go along with this. Not like I really have a choice. But… you know this isn’t even in the same zip code as appropriate, right?”

Oh course, neither was being taken over his desk and spanked like a disobedient girl. But that hadn’t stopped him.

Why hasn’t it stopped you?

Brooke shrugged, utterly unaffected. “Shall we get started?”

Just get it over with.

I walked reluctantly back to the changing room, quite sure my day couldn’t have gotten any more surreal.

CHAPTER 7

Geneva

“You’ve got… you’re not serious with this, are you?”

The reflection in the mirror was me… but the clothes I had on were something I’d never have dreamed of wearing anywhere, let alone to a job.

You’re just an intern, remember?

“Nonsense. This is somewhat conservative really. I’ve had some girls, well, they were really wearing quite a bit less than this.”

The pencil skirt I wore was so tight, my legs felt like they’d fused into one, my hips threatening to tear through the grip of the fabric. Only they didn’t, the skirt’s squeeze upon me positively relentless. I was actually proud of my ass—one of the few parts of my body I could say that about—but the obscene mockery of a skirt made it feel huge, obtrusive, and just… served up.

For men to look at.

The blouse, sleeveless and nearly as tight, seemed to cup and present my breasts in a way that seemed designed for one purpose above all else—objectifying my body.

It was working. I felt more like a piece of meat than if I’d been standing before those mirrors stark naked.

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